


Taking an axe (to a mended fence)

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Only One Bed, Panic Attacks, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: A struggling James is a terrified James, luckily Francis is there to help out.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 14
Kudos: 100





	Taking an axe (to a mended fence)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Burgeoning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19711474) by [BloodylocksBathory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodylocksBathory/pseuds/BloodylocksBathory). 



> This fic is inspired by the wonderful fic Burgeoning by BlooodylocksBathory, esp. the idea that James would wear a corset to try to control what his body looks like. That fic makes me live, guys.
> 
> The title of the fic is from the lyrics of the Taylor Swift song "This is why we can't have nice things."

The James Fitzjames that had come back from the Artic was not the same as the one before the journey. Before, he had no trouble spending entire nights at Admiralty parties, or walking endlessly around London. He’d been known for his stamina.

But now he found himself growing weary after just two hours or so at a party, barely able to stand the bodies pressing against him and the sheer noise. Three hours had passed since he’d arrived at this particular party with Francis, one of a long series that the Admiralty held to honor their homecoming.

James’s hands slid behind his back, the position so familiar to bring him some comfort as he waited for Francis, who had slipped away to speak to Sophia.

James’s eyes were not what they were, having become too sensitive to light and never really recovered. So instead of bringing his new spectacles to the party, he stayed in place where Francis had left him, like a midshipman who’d been put on watch.

He could tell that people glanced at him as they passed by, over fans and each other’s shoulders. But he did not move, nor did he find himself someone to speak to, no matter how many people gravitated towards him, questions in their eyes and curious expressions on their faces.

Before, he’d be half-way through a grandiose tale about his own heroics.

But now he waited, feeling as if the ice in the Artic had settled in his bones. He knew that if he’d conduct himself as before, talking and dancing and trading stories, his movements would gradually become slower until the only thing keeping him standing was the decades of years of training as a commissioned officer.

Then Francis would have to half-carry him home, that alarmed look in his eyes too sharp for James to allow himself to sink into what it meant for the two of them.

He’d been at this party long enough for him to feel the ice running through his veins already, slowing his pace, forcing him to actually use his cane instead of pretending as if it was only for decoration. His lungs screamed at him as he breathed in the cigar smoke, demanding clean sea air instead. James did not even allow himself to cough.

There was no way for him to allow anyone to see any hint of weakness, not when the Admiralty was going to send him on another exploration journey so soon, as the Captain of his own ship. By the time that he’d be at sea again, this damnable exhaustion that haunted him so would be gone. There’d be no need for going to bed so very early to wake up feeling somewhat rested, no need to force himself to eat the bland gruel that was had at first been the only thing he could properly stomach, no need to keep a hot water bottle with him in bed at night to keep his tense muscles in working order during the day instead of being knotted ropes of pain.

Away from all this and at sea again, he’d be too busy for all this. He’d be back in command, and that meant that he’d have to do his best to hide whatever problems came with this new body that refused to work properly, even after all this time mending.

His thumb brushed his hand as he straightened up, breathing out as he smiled at the other officers who passed by, saluting him or nodding. He walked around in a small circle so not to be trod on, distantly aware that his movements were stiff and clumsy, indirectly revealing that he had put on his corset underneath his dress uniform.

The pressure of it had been soothing when he’d put it on earlier in the evening, fashioning his body just a little bit so that he felt in control of it. The weight he’d gained after coming back had at first been welcome but now that he’d gained more weight than he’d had on before he’d left, he’d become consumed with fear of waking up one morning not fitting into his uniforms. Instead of the tight muscle that had been there before, his wasted body hadn’t built up muscle, instead opting for softness around the middle.

No matter how many nights he’d forced himself to stay awake, too familiar with his nightmares to allow them to haunt him, and walked around London, they weight had not gone away. Every day, he woke up to the fact that his clothes now fit more snugly than he’d like.

And so, he’d began restricting his food intake, habitually skipping breakfast and never reaching for dessert when he’d dine out with Francis. He could not risk eating so much or so often that his trousers would start cutting into him. It just wasn’t an option.

He’d seen the line of worry between Francis’s eyes when James had shaken his head at the suggestion of dessert, but perhaps just chalked it up to James’s vanity or lack of appetite.

At least, that was what James hoped he’d done.

James breathed out again, feeling the corset restricting his body as he did so. He’d not eaten at all today, his mind screaming at him that if he would do so there would be no getting into the dress uniform, even if it had fitted him just fine two weeks ago when he’d tried it on.

It had been just a little bit too snug when he’d put it on again this morning, solidifying his plan to put on a corset underneath it in the evening. It had felt safer to just promise himself that he’d eat tomorrow, and then just two meals.

It didn’t matter that he felt faint right now, or that his vision was going black at the edges.

His dress uniform still fit him.

Five more minutes of waiting left, perhaps.

Francis would come back soon.

Then they’d drift to the drinks table or go and find some of the other members of their former crews. And the hours would pass easily, and he could go home at a proper time instead of disappearing early and causing people to gossip about it.

James planted his feet as he’d done at 12 years old at the very beginning of his naval career, ready to face whatever the world would throw at him. He’d been ready for storms, for danger, for the rolling sea. But then again, he’d thought that he’d been ready for the Artic, too.

He did not close his eyes, even if they were tearing up, falling back on that old habit of being on alert, looking for danger on the horizon.

No one around him stilled at this, no one even looked at him as she stood still in a sea of people. Perhaps his uniform allowed him to fit in, or his utter stillness caused people to miss him entirely.

He could imagine one of them bumping into him hard enough to make him lose his balance, hitting his head on the sharp corner of the side table and losing consciousness. And then waking up surrounded by disgruntled doctors and seeing the beginnings of pity in some of the officer’s eyes.

What kind of a Captain couldn’t shake such a thing off?

What kind of Captain would let anybody see him practically swooning in public?

The sort that should never have been put in charge of another vessel, that was for sure.

The sort that deserved to be ignored and left behind.

Sweat ran down James’s back as he stood, crushing the urge to lean against a table so not to fall down because the room had started tilting.

But when James blinked, Francis was hurrying to him with all the gravity of a Naval Captain at war, boots thudding on the floor, his expression as flat and determined as that of someone willing to wade through ankle-deep blood on the deck to get to his men.

A young lieutenant trailed behind him, as well as a few other officers, former crewmembers of theirs. All in their dress uniforms. And they were all glancing at James with their lips pressed together, their fists clenched as if they were wishing for weapons to grasp.

“There you are, James,” Francis said, smiling at him. It was the reassuring smile James had seen him give to frightened midshipmen and desperate officers who were barely able to keep themselves warm in the Artic on long nights when the memories of home had faded so much to become a fragile shadow.

Which was all that James had become, these days.

A fragile, former shadow of himself.

“At ease,” Francis said, when James did not move at all.

James relaxed, blinking. He moved his hands so that they fell by his side, loose and free.

“Oh,” James managed, his voice hoarse from disuse. “You are back. That is good.”

The faces of those who had followed Francis brightened, some of them nodding and others breathing out in relief.

Goodsir appeared to be restraining himself for some reason, perhaps he wanted to ask Peglar and Bridgens to carry James into one of the empty rooms so that he could inspect him properly.

“All is well?” Goodsir asked kindly, watching James’s face intently.

“Oh yes,” James told him, slapping on a smile. “Just a bit tired, I’m afraid.”

“I’d advice that you rest, then,” Goodsir said, making a pleased noise when he saw that James was using his cane properly instead of forcing himself to limp around all the time.

“I was hoping to convince you to join me in leaving early,” Francis told James. “Since plenty of folks can say that they saw us here, looking very fine and socializing, they won’t notice that we’ve gone.”

“There’s certainly enough other people here for them to talk to,” James said, tired of telling the same tales to people who did not understand what it was like to come back, knowing how many they’d have to leave behind when they’d been found.

“That’s my line of thinking too,” Francis said, looking pleased. He opened his mouth, perhaps to say something about how he’d never have believed that James Fitzjames would ever want to hurry home in the middle of a grand Admiralty party, but thought better of it. Instead he patted James’s elbow before taking his arm, leading him to the door.

“We’ll see you later, gentlemen,” Goodsir said, nodding. “Take care.”

“We will,” James said. “Thank you.”

“I’d thought that I’d spend much longer convincing you to leave,” Francis said when they were in the carriage. “I’d had a whole speech prepared.”

“Keep it in mind for another night,” James joked. “You might need it.”

“Will do,” Francis said, leaning back in his seat. He took James’s hand carefully, his touch feather-light.

James did not flinch, nor move away. Instead he squeezed Francis’s calloused hand, closing his eyes as the relief of having left the party began to sink in. He let the touch ground him, remind him that he was back in London instead of out on the ice.

He closed his eyes for a long while until the carriage no longer felt as if it were tilting underneath him.

“Are you very tired, James?” Francis asked, sounding oddly gentle.

James nodded.

There was no use in spinning any web of lies about that. His very bones felt like they’d been replaced by blocks of ice.

He leaned into Francis’s side, letting his head rest on Francis’s shoulder. The epaulets felt odd underneath his cheek and the position was a bit odd, due to their different heights.

But James had no plans of moving.

“Why did they all look so worried?” James asked, seeing the soft look in Francis’ downturned face. “It’s not I cannot be left alone for a while, you know. I’m not a child.”

“Perhaps they also have nightmares about how close we came to losing you,” Francis mused. “They might be comforted by seeing you by my side. At least that is what they implied when they saw that you were alone.”

“Oh,” James said. “They did not think that…I was behaving oddly?”

Francis had not just returned with one officer, after all. He’d been fetched by multiple officers, all looking alarmed. As if they’d seen the very spark that would set a man-of-war aflame.

“If they did, they did not say so,” Francis said carefully. “You just looked a little lost.”

“I sometimes forget that we have made it back,” James confessed. “And that I’m safe and sound.”

“Hm,” Francis said, putting far more understanding in that little sound than James would ever have thought possible.

They were almost at James’ modest apartment, the carriage turning in a familiar pattern that James had learned to love.

“Would you like, er,” Francis began, fumbling. “I could stay with you for a while longer.”

James looked over, seeing the blush traveling up Francis’s neck and settling on his cheeks. Their relationship had been different, back when they’d still been stuck on the ice. There had been scorching kisses and clumsy if passionate fumbles in the night.

At first James had thought of it as a kind of payment for their friendship, for their closeness. He’d shared this physical comfort with many other officers throughout his career, after all. It was a way to relax during long cold nights at sea. And also, a way to climb the ladder to become Captain one day.

But Francis had not touched him in the way so many men had, as he was there to get a job done. As this was a way of payment for being in their good graces.

Instead he’d treated James gently, kissing his wrists and shoulders, holding him close afterwards. James had begun to allow himself to think this was more than two frightened men taking comfort in each other.

After they had returned, all that had stopped. Faded away like the memory of the freezing wind clawing its way through their layers.

“That would be very welcome,” James managed, seeing a genuine smile on Francis’s face. “Although I may not be of much use to you.”

Even on the best days, he’d not been able to get his member to full working order, so to speak. A common thing, the doctor had said, after being so gravelly ill. And now, after such an exhausting evening, the chances of anything much happening downstairs weren’t the best.

He’d never mentioned this to Francis, but tried to gesture to his lap to make him understand.

Francis blinked, then shrugged.

“I’d still like to join you,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

James nodded, ignoring the part of his mind that warned him about the horrible things that would occur when Francis would inevitably see the corset. And the things Francis would have to say about men wearing such things. James ignored it.

He was too tired for shame.

They stepped out of the carriage together, paying the driver.

And then they made their way to James’s apartment.

When they closed the front door behind them, James allowed himself to grip the rail of the staircase, his body refusing to move fast at all, no matter how he pushed his muscles to move. His vision swam with each step, and he bit his lips until he could taste blood.

Francis held him up as James’s leg threatened to give out underneath him. His strong hands gripped James’s waist, pulling him forward until they were at the very top of the stairs.

“Sorry for being so troublesome,” James tried to say through his gritted teeth as they came into his apartment, still leaning on Francis. He managed to wrestle himself out of his overcoat and shoes, somehow.

“You’re not,” Francis said, steering him by the shoulders one of the worn armchairs in the living room as easily as he could sail through even the worst storms.

James closed his eyes again, breathing in and out as he slumped against the back of the chair. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when he opened them again, Francis was pushing a cup of tea into his hands.

“I woke up the maid,” Francis explained.

“Thank you,” James managed, sipping the scalding tea. It must have had half the sugar bowl poured into it, something that did not fail to utterly delight the part of James that was still a tiny midshipman who never got much sugar in his tea.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Francis said, standing there in his shirtsleeves and stockings.

James limped to his cramped and stuffy bedroom, distantly aware that Francis was looking around the place with horror in his eyes.

“It’s not much,” James said. “But I thought that since I’m going to be leaving in a few months, there wasn’t much use for anything better-“

“We’ll find you something better,” Francis said, as if he was going to send letters all over to his former crew just to find some nice rooms for James. Perhaps that was his plan.

James sat down on his bed, too tired to stand as he fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat and his stock.

A part of him wanted to throw Francis out of the room when it finally came time to unlace the corset, so that he could keep it a secret. So that he didn’t have to explain anything.

“You’ve laced it too tightly,” Francis said, unlacing the corset before James had any chance to tell him to shove off or allow him to do this himself.

“Why wear it if I wasn’t going to lace it like this?” James wondered out loud, rubbing his eyes try to get them to focus better. “Besides, I had to fit into my uniform and this was the easiest solution-“

The corset fell away and to the floor.

“That is what tailors are for,” Francis said. “You visit them and have a new uniform made if the old one doesn’t fit properly anymore.”

“Hm,” James said, standing up and taking off his trousers, draping them over a nearby chair. “But that would mean that I’d admitted defeat.”

“What?” Francis asked, blinking.

James sat back down on the bed, running a hand through his hair.

“My body used to be so strong,” James managed, lying down on the bed. “And I was known for how long I could keep walking. I can’t do that anymore, and I’ve tried to make peace with that. Better to be alive than kill myself trying to get all that stamina back.”

“The Artic took many things from us,” Francis said, lying down beside him. “And illness too.”

“But I thought I could keep my looks,” James whispered, blinking back the hot tears that threatened to spill onto the pillow. “Somehow.”

“James-“ Francis began.

“What would people say when they’d see that I’d had to replace my entire wardrobe because I couldn’t control my own greed?” James said, swallowing. His hands slid down to find the softness of his midsection, pressing it down as if that would be enough to make it disappear.

“I know it is foolish,” James continued, unable to stop even as his voice shook. “My hair has grown back; I no longer feel the need to bathe in lime juice. I shouldn’t be so vain, not after what we went through. But I can’t help thinking that if I can’t even manage my own weight, how am I supposed to be the Captain of a ship?”

“Oh James,” Francis said as James turned over to the other side, away from Francis.

“I’m a wreck,” James chocked out, tears now running down his cheeks and into his ears and then soaking into the pillow. “A proper one, that should be left to sink.”

“I’m not doing that,” Francis said, pulling the blanket over them both and holding James close until his shoulders stopped shaking. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“And I know I’m being stupid,” James muttered.

“No, you are not,” Francis insisted, his breath ghosting over James’s shoulder blades. “You’re just scared and exhausted, and need rest. There is nothing stupid about that.”

His hand slid around James’s middle with aching slowness, waiting to be stopped. Then he rested his hand on the softest part of James’s belly.

His fingers tenderly traced the livid stretch marks as he kissed James’s shoulder. They were raised, ugly things to James, making him look bruised and wounded.

“Alright?” Francis asked, his hand stroking James’s sides, which were already giving into softness, too. Then they stroked James’s bony hip.

“Yes,” James breathed out. “What are you doing?”

“Holding you,” Francis replied, spreading his fingers right above James’s heart. “As you should be held.”

James closed his eyes, dimly aware that his next weeks would be taken up by tailor’s appointments and Francis dragging him along to look at a nice apartment for him, possibly for the two of them. And then looking for staff and making sure that they met up with some of their old shipmates, or that James would write to his friends.

But for now, he just let himself drift away, sinking into untroubled dreams.


End file.
